


A Child's Heart, A Brother’s Love

by Lunarium



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fandom Stocking stuffer, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 04:01:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5651737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunarium/pseuds/Lunarium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when Maglor’s heart ached in the night by the sea, he would unclasp the only jewel from his hair and study it in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Child's Heart, A Brother’s Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Independence1776](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/gifts).



> For Indy! May you have a wonderful 2016! :)

Young Atarinkë awoke to the sound of Makalaurë’s screams. He seldom ever heard his brother’s voice rise in anger or pain. The house was often filled with his song, with his laughter or poetry, but the mid-hour of Laurelin’s light brought sudden bellows of curses and feet stomping on the ground. 

Jarred out of his wits, Atarinkë rolled out of bed and listened. He could hear his other brothers also shouting, a little ways off, though he could not understand a single word. He thought he caught a curse; he had heard Tyelkormo use it before, and was warned to never utter it before father. Now it was used against Makalaurë, and Atarinkë could not deny a little chuckle, repeating the word to himself just to relish in how filthy it tasted on his lips before stopping himself, shaking his head at his own behavior, then trying to be more attentive to the ongoings outside. 

Makalaurë stormed into the house. He made his way into his room, not stopping once to make certain Atarinkë was all right or had woken from the racket, as he was wont to do. It had to be bad, Atarinkë figured, so he slipped out of his room, blinking out the rest of the sleep from his eyes. 

“Heartless idiots,” came a choked voice from his brother’s rooms. “I will speak to father about this, and he will have them both hanging by their feet in his smithy for a week!” 

_But that’s forever!_ Atarinkë thought. Makalaurë still sounded angry, stomping around in his room, Atarinkë he pressed himself against the wall when he heard the footsteps draw nearer. Whatever his brother was angry about, he didn’t want it turned against him. 

Even from his hiding place, he caught the sniffle from his second eldest brother. 

_What did those two do?_ Atarinkë thought and sneaked inside. 

He found the source soon enough, for atop Makalaurë’s writing desk he laid out what remained of the special jewel their father had made for Makalaurë on his birth. Each of the brothers had such a special gift, a jewel large enough that it would catch the light of the Two Trees. Some wore it on their coats or armory, or attached to a golden chain, but Makalaurë had it made into a hair piece. It was a beautiful amber shade, perfectly circular that would bring a round glimmer in the long sea of dark hair. 

And now it lay marred, cleaved into three pieces. How his brothers managed to do that, Atarinkë could only imagine. 

_They wouldn’t like it if their jewels were broken_ , Atarinkë thought grimly. His own jewel was a dark sapphire, but his father and mother kept it safe. They would pin it on his robes for special occasions but otherwise had it stored it away until he was old enough to take full responsibility of it. Whatever that meant. Perhaps not lose it or break it. Clearly certain older brothers were incapable of that. 

With a frown Curufin wondered how he could fix his brother’s jewel, as it was clearly distressing him. 

_I need to bring the pieces back together_ , he thought. Then, fearing that someone would catch him, he collected the pieces and slipped out of the room.

*

Sometimes, when Maglor’s heart ached in the night by the sea, he would unclasp the only jewel from his hair and study it in his hands. It was the only piece remaining of his collection, the others long having been sold for necessitates. But he refused ever to depart with the jewel his father made for him. 

Curufin was only then a child. He saw what Celegorm and Caranthir had done and sought to fix it. But being only a child, he attempted to mix golden dye into paste to give it the appearance of gold. That was when their father walked in on him, and he was forced to tell him the tale. Angered though he was at Celegorm and Caranthir, in the end, Fëanor’s heart warmed at Curufin’s feat, and he took him to his forge to watch him melt gold to seal the cracks in the jewel. 

Somehow the jewel was more beautiful after that. 

Smiling to himself despite the tears, Maglor lifted the jewel to his lips and kissed it; and for a moment he thought he felt standing close beside him, the young caring form of his little brother, his sharp intelligent eyes as bright as it was the moment they showed him the renewed gift. 

Maglor smiled and looked out. Sometimes, by the crashing waves of the sea, he did not feel lonely at all.


End file.
